


Ours not to reason why

by diabla616



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Pre-Canon, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-04 17:44:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15152378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diabla616/pseuds/diabla616
Summary: Theron Mahariel has waited his whole life to meet his soulmate, but that begins to seem like an impossibility when he's conscripted into the wardens. Of course, the gods don't make mistakes.





	Ours not to reason why

**Author's Note:**

  * For [exyking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/exyking/gifts).



For his tenth summer Theron’s ma sends him to hunt with the men for the first time.  
Tamlen, older than him and already over the excitement of his first hunt, is waiting for him when he arrives.

“Come now,” Tamlen says by way of a greeting, “we’re running late.”

The small grove, which the elders spent weeks clearing out two winters ago when the clan first arrived in this forest, is light and airy, patched with sunlight filtering through the trees. Deeper in the forest isn’t so welcoming, he knows, but here, with Tamlen as his guide and a new bow on his back Theron feels invincible.

They’re catching up to the hunt; what little tracks they left are fresher here, and he can hear the cries of an animal in the distance, wounded but not caught, not yet. Theron presses on harder, eager to participate in some of the chase. Tamlen keeps pace with him easily, until suddenly he freezes, eyes wide, bow drawn. Momentum carries Theron forward further, and he stumbles into a tree trunk with a heavy _thud_. 

Just in time, Tamlen pulls him down into the undergrowth and out of sight, and snarls _shemlen_ under his breath. Theron watches the humans, wary as their steps approach him, but they don’t appear to be hunting – they’re not carrying weapons. When they get closer still he can see they’re not even wearing armour.  
  
The girl looks around nervously herself, Theron tenses, but her gaze sweeps by his hiding place without a pause.  
“Are you certain we’re alone here?” She asks in a low voice.

“Of course, darling,” comes the reply. The man’s voice is pitched low too, out of range of any nearby humans at least.  
“People say this forest is haunted.”

The girl makes a frightened little noise at that, but the man laughs and pulls her close, his hand low on her back.  
“I’ll protect you,” he says.

Theron fights back a laugh at that; even without the rest of the hunt, both he and Tamlen have bows and arrows - this human isn’t carrying anything to defend himself. The girl seems calmed by that however, and doesn’t fight it when the man kisses her.

Tamlen takes advantage of their distraction, and pulls him away. It’s not until later; once he’s processed the disappointment of missing his first hunt, and he’s listening to Tamlen exaggerate the story of how they both narrowly escaped their run in with the shemlen, that it registers to him one more thing he’d heard the human say.

“They weren’t bonded,” he says, with a frown.

Tamlen looks over at him, “What?”

“The humans,” he clarifies, “they were kissing, but they weren’t bonded.  One of them – the man, he said ‘ _my wife doesn’t have to know_.’ He was bonded to someone else!”  
  
There’s a murmur of disgust around the campfire, one of the elders mutters _shemlen_ like a curse.

The Keeper shakes her head, “that’s not how it works, da’len. Humans aren't like us, they don’t have soulmates.”

 

 ----xXx----

 

It was always his favourite story as a youngster; how one day, no matter what else had happened in his life, the gods would choose somebody for him, and they would be _perfect._  
Young and overly curious he’d asked all the questions he could think up, and the Keeper had answered every one with the same quiet confidence.

As he grows older he starts to see it in his friends, as the clan travels around. Sometimes when they move on there’s a new face around the fire at nights, sometimes a familiar face is no longer there.

Theron watches them all with the wistfulness of a child left behind, and dreams about his own someone, out there somewhere. _Sometimes, when he’s absolutely certain he’s alone he even puts a name to the figure in his fantasies._

The clan waxes and wanes with new faces and old, and with each new face Theron envisions more fantastic scenarios in which he could meet his _someone_ , and tells himself he’s not disappointed when nothing comes of it.  
He remembers a time when he’d asked the Keeper,  
_“What if they’re the wrong person for me?”_

She had only smiled, and shaken her head, “ _the gods don’t make mistakes, da’len. Trust them.”_

 

\----xXx----

 

 

Of course when it happens it’s nothing like he’s ever imagined.

The first morning of his nineteenth summer he’s woken up early, by a slow, rhythmic chanting. Dawn isn’t for an hour, and but for the scouts on duty the entire clan is still asleep. It's hardly a time for celebrations; only days to go until the clan moves once more, and still so much to do.

 

Only once the chant finishes does he realise what's happening, when a voice inside his head says petulantly  _Maker I hate this_.

 

He keeps it to himself as long as he can; it feels  _private_  in a way he'd never imagined it could. The bond isn't constant, but it's intense; he sees glimpses of another life, feels the emotions as if they're his own.

_I wish i'd been born anywhere else but here_  he hears after a particularly early chanting session.   
_Maybe I could run away_  late one night, though Theron can feel deep down the knowledge that that's not going to happen, and the deep-seated frustration at that. 

Over days, then weeks he grows used to the routine; chanting in the morning, singing in the afternoon, prayers just before falling asleep. He also grows used to the odd words the voice in his head uses.  _Maker's breath_  is his favourite; it makes no sense.

  
His mother gives him a sharp look when he repeats it, however, and a warning not to spend time with humans. 

"You know," Tamlen tells him later, as they make their way through the forest, "there are elves who live in shemlen cities. Maybe that's who you're hearing."

That makes sense; after all, humans don't have soulmates, but elves who lived among them _would_ , might even share in their religious rituals. There's a bitter twist of disappointment follows that though - he's never been to a human city, he doesn't even know if there's one close by. How is he going to meet his  _someone_ like that?

 

 

\----xXx----

 

 

When he wakes up Tamlen is nowhere to be seen, and there's a human, dark-haired and taller than any one he's seen before standing over him. 

 

"I'm sorry about your friend," the man says, "I couldn't reach him in time. You should come with me."

Dizzy and disorientated Theron does just as he suggests.  
His ma greets them at the entrance to the camp with tears in her eyes, though it's not until he hears the conversation between the Keeper and the newcomer, that he realises why.

 

"The wardens will take care of him, you have my word."

"I can't go!"  
The words are out of his mouth almost before he's considered them, instinct taking over. It turns all eyes to him, but he's not paying attention to anything except the pounding certainty that he  _can't go!_

"Da'len," the Keeper says "Duncan is a good man, and the Grey wardens are an honourable cause. But even if that were not the case, not even I can stand in the way of the Rite of Conscription."

 

It's a long journey to Ostagar, even on horseback, and what started off uncomfortable has long since become downright miserable after a shower of rain. He's exhausted, a bone-deep weariness which is only half-due to the length of his journey.  
To his surprise though, theres a change on the other end of the bond, a lightness he hasn't felt before.

It feels almost like  _freedom._    
Theron takes a moment in his tent to wonder what has happened, what changed for his mate, then brushes it off; he's just been cheated out of any chance he could have to meet whoever it is, better just to put any consideration out of his mind. 

 

Though he can't stay in his tent and sulk for long, there's a battle to prepare for and Ostagar is a flurry of activity. Duncan has a constant stream of work for him, preparations, and errands for what seems like everyone in the camp. 

After he's polished his armour, sharpened his daggers and refilled flasks of poison in preparation for the upcoming battle, Duncan sends for him once more.

"I promised your Keeper I would see you safe," he says, "I pray to the maker this does the trick. There is one last task for you today."

 

The tower is almost overrun, but with the guards and a few of the circle magi helping, Theron makes it to the top unharmed. There's a warrior in Templar insignia in the topmost room, dealing the finishing blow to an enormous, horned darkspawn as they enter.   
  


"I take it you're the recruit Duncan sent?" 

Any response dies in his throat at that voice - the same he's heard in his head for months now.

"I'm Alistair," he continues, "and you're just in time to light things up."

 

 

\----xXx----

 

His dreams are  _nightmares_ , thundering hoardes of death and darkspawn. It makes his head pound, and his eyes water. 

When he wakes the sensations are little better. His head is still throbbing, and his vision is blurry. Though even through the haze he can see the from the spartan decor of the room that this is not Ostagar. 

"You live," a voice says, "I had thought you might not."

A woman enters the room, dark-haired with striking golden eyes and a smile which looks more cruel than kind. There's a sense of old magic about her. A mage, perhaps.

"What happened?" he asks her. 

"I healed you," she replies, "though 'tis not my speciality. You would be wise to rest further before you think to leave this place. For now though, you have a visitor, such as he may be."

The Templar, Alistair, enters the room then, pointedly ignoring the mage's remarks - Theron feels the determination of that almost before he sees him. Alistair has taken off his helmet, revealing close-cropped blonde hair, and blue eyes, but is still in full plate armour aside from that.   
  
"You... you're alive. I thought you were dead for sure." He stands awkwardly by then door, then thinks better of it and shuffles closer, close enough to sit on the small bed.

"For the record," he says, "I'm glad you're not dead."  
  


Theron can't help a smile at that. Perhaps the gods don't make mistakes after all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
